Honor: The Ties That Bind
by XArienX
Summary: Ten years have past since the Avatar and Fire Lord met in battle and since then radical changes have shaken the very foundations of the Avatar world. Aang and his friends find themselves caught in this endless web of love, lust, politics and bet
1. World on Fire: Introduction Part 1

**Title:** Honor: The Ties That Bind

**Author:** XArienX

**Rating: **T(PG-13) for violence, blood and adult themes.

**Summary: **Ten years have past since the Avatar and Fire Lord met in battle and since then radical changes have shaken the very foundations of the Avatar world. Aang and his friends find themselves caught in this endless web of love, lust, politics and betrayal, whose end shall conclude the history books of a tumultuous era.

**World on Fire: Introduction Part 1**

**It is said among those of a time long past and others in a far future, that every life leaves its imprint on the world; a single soul's choice may forever alter history's events. For those who still grace the physical world, their impact is often veiled or unseen. Only when all those who would have remembered are gone, shall a dusty book write of their triumph or failure. How insignificant their lives will someday seem, their contributions all but forgotten. There will be some who shine through countless eras and others who quietly disappear into obscurity. Luckily that time has not yet come and for those whose lives will become haplessly entangled, their moments of history are slowly unfurling.**

A breeze from the East scattered pale clouds against a brightening horizon whose edges were still swabbed in morning's pallet of magnificent color. The distinct regional lines seemed to blend together, the first staunched colors fusing to one as the light traveled up its steppe. It was said that if one took the time and found the right moment, their eyes would behold the birth of the sun and the slumber of the moon as a simultaneous movement across the heavens. Ever fated to their eternal dance around the Earth, the sun and the moon shared each other's presence for but an instant every morn and night before one partner faded away. The color-streaked clouds caught in between represented the only connection between day and night, Earth and Heaven.

Few people had time to tarry and notice such a common triviality. It happened everyday, thus there would perpetually be a tomorrow or another time. As life so commonly happened to be, the brief and fleeting moment of beauty was taken for granted. The sun and moon, the earth and sky, they would always be there as the gods of the universe commanded. Time remained the only enemy, flowing ever on and sometimes failing to bring that tomorrow to every soul.

This had constantly been and would constantly be, even in the times that had risen. It was a new era among a people who had shaken off the shackles of war but had to pull the yokes of reform that came with peace. It was a time comparable to few occurrences of early centuries. A revolution in freedom and liberties had transpired; a world-wide experiment put into place, the outcome of which was still shadowed from even the most far seeing minds. New and fresh, it sparkled to the war-torn people like a shiny coin at the bottom of a fountain; now that they had retrieved it, new riches would appear in their pocket.

To truly understand why war, famine, and disease no longer plague people who had previously fought for their next meal or whose eyes had brimmed with the tears over countless dead children, a mere twenty year trip into the past will share the secret.

The youthful Avatar Aang met the Fire Lord Ozai in battle as the armies each had raised washed themselves red in the blood of an enemy whose faces held no difference when pigmented in each other's violent scarlet. When it came down to the truth, each man knew that his contribution mattered little in the grand scheme of things, in history. It was the Avatar after all who would defeat or die at the hands of the Fire Lord. To the victor's army went the spoils and due to such odds, those who had come to fight were merely present to extract revenge; noble hearts tainted and wearied by war's discrimination.

Utter chaos had erupted within the Fire Nation capital while the two powerful men clashed in a manner that seemed quiet when compared to their counterparts outside. Ozai retained an infallible over-confidence and Aang an overbearing, premature weight of responsibility. With all their talents and training neither person retained a clear advantage and because of this, the war raged for days. Until exhaustion claimed the life of one fighter the fate of the world would have to hold its breath.

An ashen-faced Aang gasped for air as his eyes remained fixed on Ozai, who was in a similar position with the exception that the older man would not allow himself to double over even if the urge to do so was overbearing. Their faces glistened in sweat which only deprived their dehydrated bodies more. Lord Ozai was ambitious but not stupid and thus their battle commenced in an iron room which held no water. Aang may have learned all the elements but without the needed tools he had only his natural knowledge of air bending and the acceptable amount of fire bending he had acquired to fight Ozai.

The walls of the room were scorched such a charcoal black that in the air floated a thin veil of soot, hampering both benders. Each coughed from time to time, an instant where the other used the opportunity to strike. Aang's left leg was badly burned at the thigh, a combination of cuts scourged his head and a blister festered on one of his hands. He sported a black eye and his body already ached with promising bruises. Ozai was in no better shape, his head still seeping with a bloody gash above his eye, a likely broken wrist and what was developing into a minor concussion. He had donned armor so most of his body was spared from any serious injuries.

The sight of the two men was much like some wondrously tragic tale told around campfires at night, when eager children begged to stay up past their bed time to learn how the story ends. Often the story teller is forced to alter the events for both the ears of his audience and to please their ingrained sense of right and wrong. Depending upon where the story is told, the true victor may be the fallen for eventually the event shall be so long past, that no one will remember fact from fiction.

The underlining score of this battle cannot be summed up lightly by the gentle tongue of a safety minded soul, however. The sheer magnitude of the outcome would forever shape the fortunes of generations to come. Aang needed to defeat the Fire Lord to restore peace and balance to the world; Ozai needed to kill the Avatar so that the Fire race could finally assert its superiority over all.

"If I die Avatar, I shall take you with me." The Fire Lord promised, his voice hoarse, the taste of blood at the corners of a mouth that was pulled into a malicious grin.

Ozai was not one who used his sheer strength alone to defeat foes, his acidic words could cut as much as a blade, which fortunately for Aang, Ozai hadn't cheated into some hidden pocket. In fact, if Ozai's other qualities of malevolent nature weren't so daunting, Aang could call him a honorable man. The fight tested bender against bender, fist against fist, and blood against blood. The last part of that ideal meant the most to Ozai. Within the perverted conception of racial supremacy the Fire Lord and many of his contemporizes had dreamt up, the master race shall rise above the inferior as its blood was truly favored by the gods and spirits. The Fire Nation was a driven people, determined to advance and control their world. They would not allow themselves to be the victims of nature, no, it was the aspiration of many citizens to one day lay domain over the very stars. Ambitiousness was indeed an understatement.

Fire benders were also known for more admirable traits, especially their emphasis on honor. Aang now knew that Ozai wished to boast a hard-earned victory, one that would make him a legend, and model to his people. Another man by the name of Zhao had envisioned for himself a similar fate. Ozai desired the honor so intensely that he no longer saw the distinction between himself living or dying; all that matter was the death of the Avatar. A successor had already arranged for the throne, a person would continue the Fire bender Empire with the same passion as their predecessor.

No, the Fire Lord hadn't simply sat and twiddle his thumbs waiting for the deadly child Avatar to knock on his door. As well as engaging in his ever bolder offensive against the other kingdoms of the world, a task which became more and more the job of his generals, Ozai began to meticulously train and plan out every scenario he and his court advisor could bring to mind. He bent every fiber of his will towards the boys downfall, to the point that many of his own devotees noticed an air of insanity around him. The Lord was taking to long hours alone, talking to an obviously absent Avatar in his dreams, and refusing his normal practice of engaging with the courtesans. When he finally laid eyes upon Aang, a rather diminutive and limber form, there was no surprise or uncertainty with in Ozai's eyes, for the powerful ruler had met the boy many times before.

"You will pay for all the lives you have taken Ozai, even if I have to deliver you to the Spirit World personally," Aang growled, face stern and filled with determination despite his body's utter protest.

The boy prodigy teetered just barely on the cusp of adolescences, his years now numbering in the teens. He still preferred a good game of air ball to leading an army, and he more willingly filled his stomach with custard pudding than his mind with battle tactics, but as the days wore on, his companions saw less and less of an un-dampened smile and more of a set jaw and distant eyes. He still spoke and sometimes acted like a boy of his age, still remained blissfully naïve about many mature topics, but there was no doubt that Aang was changing. No child was ever meant to bear such cares or duties at such a young age. Even though Aang was not alone in having to grow up too quickly, his alteration had been much too rapid and erratic. He was like one trapped between the troubles of an old man, and the boundless transformations of a young man, hailing the tradition of a lost time and pushing for conformity to a new system.

At first this final battle was nothing but a far off dread, easily pushed aside by the laughter of Katara or the opportunity to ride some unsuspecting wild animal. As the time grew closer and closer though, and his burden bigger and bigger, Aang did nothing but envy earlier times and more fortunate Avatars.

Why did he have to accomplish these things anyway? Who had decided that this misshapen Air bender should become Avatar? Aang often wondered what powerful entity had decided to bestow one person with such limitless power, and yet carry the world upon his back. With great power comes great responsibility and with great responsibility comes much peril. If Aang had not flown out into that ominous storm, perhaps some other Avatar would be in his place now, their conscious and well-being stressed instead. Aang knew he was being selfish, he knew answers to his questions, but somehow idea of some other road, some other path seemed so much better.

With such worries, Aang was no long a child. He might appear to be in body but that too was changing as the mind of an adult had already flowered in his bald head, stunted as it was. He had to defeat Fire Lord Ozai, it was his mission, his destiny. There were other things that would need his help, but all their turns would inevitably lead him to the reaking room he stood in now. Perhaps this was his only true goal in life and after he would have no further affect on the world. If that was indeed the case, then everything in his young life should have to be able to prepare him to fight and beat Ozai.

Katara was still the only one able to pull him out of this stupor. With her sing-song voice and impeccable morals, she drove him on everyday, making sure he had the will to confront each new obstacle.

It occurred to him now as he watched Ozai move to a slow stance once again, that in all this confusion he had forgotten about the plight of his friends. It had been days and even though the time he had spent combating Ozai was somewhat obscured, Aang had no idea how the outside world faired, nor if Katara or Sokka were still alive. This above all else now consumed the young boy's mind, his anxiety over their security bringing about a near physical change in the young monks aura.

As if some force allowed him to see it and latch on, Ozai made another characteristic jab at Aang's mental stability while thrusting an arc of flame forward at the Avatar.

"And you shall see your friends in the spirit world as well Avatar for there is no chance they are still alive."

Aang barely dodged the fire before sending back a retaliatory blast of wind. Ozai was hit but did not stop his tirade.

"You put them in terrible danger all this time. What man turns his back on his friends and lets them die? Avatars are supposed to be powerful and honorable, but you can't even defeat me or save your friends…pathetic." Ozai spat, and this time there was blood in it but the message clear.

"Shut up!" yelled Aang finding the strength to rush the Fire Lord, meeting him in a hand-to-hand block. "My friends are alive and kicking your army's butt."

"But you don't know that do you? You have been here fighting me this entire time." Ozai leaned in close, knowing the potency of words. "What about that little Water bender girl? She's a pretty one. I am sure my men will have fun with her before she joins her brother among the dead."

Ozai had finally found the right button; he saw it in the avatar's eyes. The anger there was raw and unrestrained, it was beautiful, powerful, and it was a weakness. Emotions controlled bending but too much caused a person to lose that control. Ozai wanted Aang to lose control. He wanted to take advantage of that one moment of clumsiness or hesitation, to kill the Avatar.

Aang's eyes began to glow opaque, the arrow on his head and limbs reacting the same and causing his body to stiffen for a brief second. Ozai was already prepared, twisting his leg around and un-footing the Avatar's root. Aang came down hard on the bloody floor with a crash that echoed against the walls; his Avatar spirit flickered as he began to bleed.

Within an instant the previously cumbersome Ozai was on top of him, first with an axe kick to the stomach and then with two steel-like hands choking his throat.

This was it, Aang thought, the excruciating pain radiating throughout his entire body. He struggled against the man atop him but his already failing strength was being sapped away. All Aang could see now was a growing bright light, the form nor face of his attacker visible any longer. He could feel the Avatar spirit slipping away as he lost consciousness. The end was coming, he could feel it all over, as death's fickle hand was already choking him.

Often a person sees their life's memories right before death, spinning past like a stage where the audience remains invisible to the actor's toils. Aang watched as a younger Gyatso showed a baby boy a line of toys, telling him to pick out four. He saw a familiar bender staring out of his window dejectedly, sulking as the other boys play air ball. He winced as an angered self flew off into a storm only to be woken by the shinning blue eyes of a girl one hundred years later. There was Zuko's ship chasing a flying bison, and an aged Bumi grinning out of a feathered purple hat. All of his friend and adventures flashed before his eyes. So much had happened to him in such a short time and yet compared even to the hum-drum life of some elderly man, it was nothing but a blink of an eye.

Aang was dying at thirteen. The Avatar, destined to save the world was going to fail. He had been given one sole purpose, one achievement, one goal and one hundred and thirteen years to do it. It had been too much for him; he had wasted all that time and now everything and everyone he cared for would pay the price.


	2. Voices: Introduction Part 2

**Title:** Honor: The Ties That Bind

**Author:** XArienX

**Rating: **T(PG-13) for violence, blood and adult themes.

**Summary: **Almost twenty years have past since the Avatar and Fire Lord met in battle and since then radical changes have shaken the very foundations of the Avatar world. Aang and his friends find themselves caught in this endless web of love, lust, politics and betrayal, whose end shall conclude the history books of a tumultuous era.

**Voices: Introduction Part 2**

"I failed Master Roku." Aang whispered, the shame overpowering his features. Before him lied both an endless expanse of white and the former Avatar.

"I couldn't save them. Nothing I did was enough to save anyone!" Aang clenched his fists and bit back tears.

"I failed the world, because I didn't try hard enough, because I wasn't good enough! I failed my friends and everyone I loved!" The young boy cried out, his eyes now leaking the salty lakes they had tried to hold back. He stood there expecting the elder man to speak but strangely his lips remained closed.

An eloquently carved arch appeared behind Roku, its simple wooden gate vanishing to present a shimmering portal. Aang recognized the place behind the frame immediately and knew exactly what was happening. Even though this was the way things had to be, Aang could stop his heart from pounding viciously against his chest.

Roku silently turned and beckoned the boy forward toward the entrance. It was Aang's time to join his fellow kin; he was being shown into the spirit world, his final end only a few yards away.

Aang reluctantly took a step forward. It brought the second most agonizing feeling he had ever experienced, but at the same time something deep within him seemed to disappear and lightened his chest.

He took another step with the same result. In front of him Roku stood patiently waiting at the gate, solemn faced and stiff limbed. Everything about it, the situation, Roku, what he was leaving behind, droned so loudly in his head that he couldn't even think straight.

Another foot in front of the other, and this time he noticed the buzzing lessen for a moment, but in its place rolled a fog. It made him feel as if he wanted to remember something, but couldn't grasp what it was.

Again he moved toward the totem like Roku, imploring the man for help.

"Roku, what's happening? Why can't I remember…" he fell short, forgetting what exactly he was trying to remember. Still, something nagged at the edges of his subconscious like a bee trying find its hive. He was supposed to be somewhere, or be doing something. Just what that was, he couldn't quite remember.

Aang came to a halt, clasping his hands over his ears, desperately hoping to stop the buzzing as it found a new wave of strength.

"Make it stop! Please make it stop!" the boy bawled out to anyone or anything. "I can't take it anymore make it stop!"

Aang fell to the floor, his face strewn with tears. He was going insane, curling into such a tight ball, that he would surely break in two. Only a few feet away lay the Spirit World, its golden glow promising an eternity of peace, but Aang couldn't reach it; he could barely move. He would be trapped forever in this cruel limbo, his soul unable to choose where it was going or if it would ever get there.

As his head throbbed, the buzzing slowly became more distinct, more tuned. It seemed to split into thousands of fractions, each with a different wave length and sound. At first this only magnified Aang's agony until he noticed their pitches, tones and speeds all become more define, acute, and even audible. He listened closely, straining with all his might.

Whispers in a dark chasm slowly amplified…they were…were voices! Thousands and thousands of voices! Some were crying, others screaming, men, women, children, faceless but not without speech.

"No! Don't take my son from me! Please! Don't…"

"Burn the village, and take any survivors as slaves."

"Mama, why do I have to wear this cuff around my neck? It hurts."

"If this is truly our last stand, then we shall be remembered as the ones who died

protecting their freedom!

"I shall go down in history as the greatest ruler the world has ever seen!"

"Aang? Aang, where are you? Aang!"

The Avatar opened his eyes. The last voice was familiar. He heard it again in his mind, standing out from all the rest. If only he could remember who it was! The name, the form of the person, was just out of his reach, just on the tip of his tongue. Who was it? Who needed him so badly? Aang just wanted to be left alone, just wanted to be left in peace!

Suddenly as if hit with cold water, the boy opened his eyes. Scrambling to his feet, the Avatar looked around as if he had never truly been able to see before. Somehow everything had a new depth, a new dimension and when his eyes meet Roku's, a serge of power emitted into his body. His hands began to glow, the Avatar spirit springing to life within him. Whatever was happening, Aang felt as if some invisible force wanted to propel him up and away from where he was meant to be. Glancing once more at his mentor, Aang observed a funny thing. The tightly-pull wrinkles of the man were forming something like a smile right before he was jolted away.


	3. A Beginning's End: Introduction Part 3

**Title:** Honor: The Ties That Bind

**Author:** XArienX

**Rating: **T(PG-13) for violence, blood and adult themes.

**Summary: **Ten years have past since the Avatar and Fire Lord met in battle and since then radical changes have shaken the very foundations of the Avatar world. Aang and his friends find themselves caught in this endless web of love, lust, politics and betrayal, whose end shall conclude the history books of a tumultuous era.

**A Beginning's End: Introduction Part 3**

Aang's eyes shot open, seeing his own reflection within the pupils of a bewildered Ozai.

"What? You're dead! I killed you!" an incredulous Fire Lord bellowed unable to react in his utter shock.

Aang shoved the Fire Lord back with such strength that the Fire bender crashed into the wall behind him and caused the iron to buckle. Slowly approaching his broken opponent, Aang saw the man as if he were in a bloody haze, a halo of crimson about his body.

For a moment there were even two Ozais, the physical tangible one, and a pale silvery shadow overlapping him. In another time, another place, Aang would have thought about this curiosity but currently all his body and mind could feel was contemptuous power; a madness that would only be sated by the death of the man before him.

In one quick motion, the Avatar pierced his hand straight into the Fire Lord's chest, searching for the heart of a monster. When his fingers came into contact with the pulsing organ, he ripped it from its master's chest.

Ozai's face contorted in pain as his body spasimed. His blood-shot eyes began to bleed ruby tears, the pressure within his body gone. For a few seconds everything seemed to freeze, putting light on a frenzied killer and a breathless corpse. Their gazes connected, glowing orbs meeting dying flames. Ozai opened his mouth, as if to utter some final eulogy; all that came to his lips was a bubble of blood. His legs then gave out and he crumpled to the floor.

Aang remained immovable; his sight glued to the dead man's body which had once contained the limp heart in his hand. It was a sick and pitiful sight, one that Aang even in his right mind, would forever choose to forget. Casting the heart aside, much as he had done with his own feelings and aspirations, Aang turned to leave. He would miss, however, an unmistakable leer on the fallen ruler's face. A cryptic message wasted on an empty room.

A still spiritually infused Avatar flung the tomb's locked doors open, stepping forth into the deserted halls. If anyone had found themselves unfortunate enough to have crossed his path, they probably wouldn't be able to share their story's end.

All around him, as if symbolizing the end of a regime, brilliant banners boasting flaming symbols fell askew, subjects to their own woven symbol. It seemed the inhabitants of the palace had fled; the nobles and aristocrats untrusting of their own soldier to protect the palace gate. Their suspicions had come true but at the cost of yellow-bellied fear.

Faint glows illuminated distant corridors and the smell of smoke lay heavily in the air. Death and destruction hung all about, forming a ballad that somewhat sadly ushered out one era for the next. Such are many changes in power full of bloodshed and inhumanity. Aang had fruitlessly hoped that this life could somehow be different; somehow set a better example then those in the past. It was but a lofty goal marked by the remnants of childish naivety. His victory had been baptized in blood.

Finally striding through the ajar doors of once magnificent copper gates, Aang stood at what seemed the pinnacle of height above still clashing warriors. The carnage was gruesome, but each man tirelessly fought over the bodies of fallen comrades and enemies to what they thought was an unforeseeable end. It was later said that if neither leader had been able to drag himself from victory, that the soldiers would have fought until their last man died at the point of his own blade. There would be no end until all were dead or their savior returned.

As hectic as the battle was, one sideward glance managed to spot the carefully descending and illuminated Avatar on the palace steps. The man had too blink and rub his eyes before he could begin to register what he saw. Immediately stopping, even on the battle field, the soldier pointed and yelled over the calamity.

"It's the Avatar!" he hollered; the pause costing him his life as another man's spear ran him through. The effect, however, was not lost. Like the ripple created by a pebble hitting the water, the people around the dead man similarly turned, causing those around them to in a continuously growing fashion. Some mythological story would describe how weapons were dropped; faces began to smile and tear, others looking fearful. The fighting sluggishly ended, all eyes fixed upon the staggering boy.

A long pause resounded through the crumbling city, the silence before the storm. To the relief of all a cheer broke the tension like a roaring thunder rising up from the voices of an indiscernible people. Rebels hugged and cried while the Fire benders wearily looked down, unable to accept the outcome of their war.

Aang reached the bottom of the stairs, becoming equal to the military crowd. He felt the Avatar spirit release his body, enabling him to look upon the battered men and women with a slow smile, as a father does to child of whom he is proud of. His vision was fuzzy but he could make out most of their faces with much joy, some of them full of color, others a translucent silver.

Then as quickly as he had become empowered, Aang felt an immense fatigue wash over him. Fear gripped his heart as he dreaded the possibility of death being once again laid before him. No, it wasn't death that scared him anymore. Confronting the growing dread inside him did. The possibility of never again lying eyes onto the face or hearing the voice of his savoir would make death's eternity all the crueler.

Aang's knees buckled and the crowd gasped. He was screaming, unsure whether it was in his head or in reality. The spirits had dealt him a cruel hand of fate, one which hurt more profoundly than any of his wounds. They sent him back believing that he could live, could survive. His second chance at destiny had saved the world, but now the spirits pulled back on his puppet strings, denying anything more. Aang was grateful and yet spiteful. He had done everything that needed to be done, so what more did he want? Why couldn't his significance be more important? The devestated boy could only wish that the cosmos had some other worldly plan for him so maybe he could remain on earth a little longer…at least so he could see that face one last time.

His body crumpled and he began to fall forward. Somewhere from the clustered ranks, a bloodied and shaken young girl burst from the on-lookers and sprinted to catch him before he fell.

"Aang! Oh Aang, I found you!" The bronze skinned girl cried, holding the young monk's face to her chest. "You did it! You saved the world Aang! You're a hero!" She wept, stroking the top of his head. Refusing to accept the obvious condition her friend was in, the girl continued to coddle him with praise and tender words.

"Just think Aang! We can start over now, we can all go home. You can live with us and we can even ride the penguins every day…Aang. We can finally be happy. We're free."

Ever so cautiously she laid him on his back, taking extra care to avoid paining any one of his numerous injuries, the sight of which made her cringe.

"Don't worry Aang, I'll take care of you. I promise." Her voice whispered calmly, covering him in a warm blanket of comfort. It gave Aang the strength to finally look at her. Gazing into her big blue eyes, he realized that his vision wasn't doing her justice, that the girl before him deserved a more honorable depiction. His savior, his muse, just wasn't the same. Neither her battered appearance nor currently flawed tawny skin had anything to do with it; Aang was not that shallow. This difference was something beyond physical limitations, yet evading clear recognition. There was no ghost-like silvery form about her but something was defiantly different, something that dampened this last glorious moment. When the world grew dark and her face farther and farther away, all Aang would have was a memory to take with him, for when he woke, the world from his left eye would never look the same.

_Well there is the end to my introduction! Please read, enjoy, and if you find the time, review._

_**New Chapter coming soon!**_

_(Will write more when she knows what she is doing XD)_

_Arien _


	4. Chapter 1: Dead or Alive

**Title:** Honor: The Ties That Bind

**Author:** XArienX

**Rating: **T(PG-13) for violence, blood and adult themes.

**Summary: **Almost twenty years have past since the Avatar and Fire Lord met in battle and since then radical changes have shaken the very foundations of the Avatar world. Aang and his friends have found themselves caught in this endless web of love, lust, politics and betrayal, whose end shall conclude the history books of a tumultuous era.

_**A/N: **Here is the first official chapter of Honor: The Ties That Bind. If you don't read the introduction you will be a little lost but this is the real mandatory first chapter._

_**Disclaimer: **This is the completely useless part of every fan-fiction. Obviously I don't own Avatar! Otherwise I wouldn't half to write about it._

* * *

**Chapter 1: Dead or Alive**

"If I had my way, they'd be dead! Every last one!"

A bawdy crowd cheered in accord, washing down their debate in another pint of ale.

"Well you can't rub'em all out, their like roaches; impossible to kill."

Again the burly group of men yammered with confirmation, the foulness of their words matched only by their odor.

The Scarlet Pub door swung open, announcing a new customer with the groan of rusty bolts. A wall of light cut through the dense smog which lounged about the dingy room. The aroma of alcohol, coal, and tobacco invited the cloaked figure to pull up a chair and share in its toxicity. A cluster of rickety ceiling lamps routinely flickered and hummed, casting a very weak sphere of influence after the door closed. If the night sky produced more light than the aged lamps, the inhabitants could either see in the dark or not care either way.

The nations of the world may have put aside their regional lines, but the men within them hadn't. Each pub was dominated by a different group, the small gangs fiercely defendant of their territory and masculinity. Everyday tired factory and dock workers piled into their favorite bar to engage in the pleasures of smoking, drinking, and cursing. To them there was nothing better to do in the forsaken pit they called home. Single, overworked, and of less than moral character, the men who lingered in the streets, on the water, and inside the taverns loved to hate the lives they lived. Their dwellings were dark, dank and disgusting and the only women who resided within city limits were sweetly described as prostitutes. It was a dissolute place, loathed by those who lived their and ignored by the rest of the world. Tiran, however, was not the only city of its kind. With no where else to go, the people's revolution had deposited its own fighters into obscurity. The malicious overseers of factories, mills, and mines used their new freedoms to legally enslave employees. Saved from one fiery tyrant to serve another, prosperity was something for the lucky, the politicians and the Avatar.

"Just last week they hired one to work with me. The coal eater expected me to help him." One man hollered, slamming his fist on the table.

It was hard to miss the physical condition of the men who were perpetually dirty, unkempt, and boisterously muscular. Their eyes looked sharp but the rest of their senses, unless under some liquid influence, blunt. The Scarlet Pub served to the iron smith crowd, a group which held no more prestige than any of the other pitiless workers.

The squat male who had spoken earlier continued on his soap-box. "Can't trust them! Should have gotten rid of them in the Great War!"

"But the Avatar has a soft spot for'em." A man in the far corner spat, the half chewed chunks of his sandwich emphasizing his detesting tone. "Don't see why, since he killed the Fire Lord."

"I heard one even betrayed him, nearly cost us the war!" There was a roar as the ruddy-faced men pointed fingers, shook fists, and clenched jaws. A pair of eyes looked up.

"It's true." whispered a boy in his early twenties, who evidently wanted into the elite circle.

"No way Shi." One of the elder men slapped the soot-faced young man on the back, nearly spilling the junior's beer. Out of pity and the bit of compassion none of the men would admit to, the otherwise arrogant clan had allowed the young street urchin to follow them about. He was the butt of every joke and shamelessly teased, so this tall tale only added to their antagonism.

"Really, I was there, I knew him."

"You knew him!" The gaggle hooted with indignation, disbelief, and ill-humor.

All of the room seemed to center about their ruckus; the bar keep and the assorted amount of exiled customers perking their ears into the less than private conversation. Save from the man who had shuffled himself in earlier, they all pretend to not be listening keenly to the conversation.

"He was a prince, a banished prince. I was there. I served under him before he…he double-crossed us." Shi's comrades quieted down, hushed by the force with which Shi's beer glass was held. They might have been seeing two beer glasses, but at least Shi's confession caught their attention. His voice strained in the attempt to stay even. "He went mad and tried to kill the Avatar." The eyes looked down.

"WHAT!" All at once the room was alive vengeance. If there hadn't been so much liquor consumed with their heated dispute, the insurgents probably would have just settled the matter with more beer. Unfortunately the night had taken a turn for the worst. It didn't matter to them if Shi was even telling the truth, he had convinced the raffish men of their erroneous belief.

The bartender had become accustom to these situations and took proper refuge under his counter, reaching up only to save a bottle of whiskey. In a clumsy sweep, the mob made for the door in their determination to lynch and otherwise harass the next unlucky soul they met. Pity the man who decided to wear red that night.

Broken glasses, the chill of a near empty room, and Shi were left in their wake. The drawled out sip from an ale glass broke the silence, its maker clearly indifferent to the events which had occurred. Amber liquid swirled about in the glass before it was set down again and shoved in the direction of the cowering tender.

"So you say you know this Fire bending Prince?" The cloaked man grunted in a voice harsh from alcohol.

Shi looked towards the back of the man's head, his face still showing a mixture of anger and bewilderment. He wasn't sure if this stranger's invitation to conversation was going to end in a similar fashion, but the chance at getting some form of attention made him edge a little closer.

"Yes, I _knew _him, but he is dead." Shi sat down, his tough act thin but upheld. He tried to look at his new friend but the man's face was shadowed in cloth and darkness. His glass slid back to him and disappeared behind the brown hood for a few moments.

"How do you know he is dead?"

Shi displayed a smug and contemptuous grin. "The bastard was killed soon after his assassination attempt. Killed by his little girlfriend no less." Shi settled into the story after the man made no response. "Yea, ironic how he met his end by the hands of a Water bender. She woke in the middle of the night went looking for him, and found him at the foot of the Avatar's bed with a blade."

"And how did you manage to witness all this?" His voice remained the same but he took another drink.

"I didn't, I heard it later. Neither she nor the Avatar ever spoke about it but rumors have their way of spreading. Don't know why it was so hard seeing as he was a Fire bender and all."

"So peace lives between all four nations. The Avatar did well." The comment would be sarcastic if the man would display any emotion.

"Now don't get me wrong." Shi pointed, the alcohol starting to effect him. "I am not as radical as some of the guys." His confession showing just how much of an outcast he was from his own 'friends.' "I don't think they are all bad, just most of them. You know, the uncle of that prince is Fire Representative. The old coot must be ancient, he was the only one that survived the Terror." Shi beckoned the bartender towards his now empty glass. "All those royals and nobles dead at the hands of their own people…except Representative Iroh. Must have felt he was the only decent one, although in my book, he did raise that son of a bitch prince."

There was silence, although the other man was no longer drinking.

"Say…what's your name anyway? Don't think I've ever seen you before."

The over-burnt candle between them flickered a little.

"Come on, don't be shy. We are brothers here. It's not like you're a Fire bender or nothing." Shi was already slurring and waving his hands like an idiot, slipping away with every word.

"Let me see your face, friends don't hide from friends." Shi grabbed for the back of the man's hood but swift and strong arm twisted his own back. His head gear remained on, but the slight movement needed to keep it there allowed the tiny candle's illumination to light up the man's face.

Shi gasped suddenly sober, dumbfounded, and flabbergasted. "You!" He murmured, his eyes widening in instant recognition. "YOU!" The man let go of a shaking Shi who fell off of his bar stool.

"Dead, dead, dead!" Shi could think of nothing else as he choked on an air which was unexpectedly noxious.

Just then, as if on cue by some heavenly director, the tavern door swung open to reveal a disgruntle group of men. Unable to find a suitable prey to molest, their moods were even fouler than before.

"Shi! What are you doin on the floor?" One asked.

"It's him!" Shi shouted, finding some audible volume. "It's Prince Zuko!"

* * *

_**A/N:** Chapter one! Woo. Wait I shouldn't be so excited, look at the situation if put poor Zuko in. _

_Read, review and enjoy!_

_**Arien**_


	5. Chapter 2: Melting Away

**Title:** Honor: The Ties That Bind

**Author:** XArienX

**Rating: **T(PG-13) for violence, blood and adult themes.

**Summary: **Almost twenty years have past since the Avatar and Fire Lord met in battle and since then radical changes have shaken the very foundations of the Avatar world. Aang and his friends have found themselves caught in this endless web of love, lust, politics and betrayal, whose end shall conclude the history books of a tumultuous era.

**a/n:** _I thought this chapter would be easy to write, but I am not even sure if I am happy with it now. There was so much I wanted to get into and say but I realized I was only getting ahead of myself. I had exams all week, so please allow me to apologize for the slow update. Anyway, please enjoy!_

_**Disclaimer: **This is the completely useless part of every fan-fiction. Obviously I don't own Avatar! Otherwise I wouldn't have to write about it._

* * *

**Chapter 2: Melting Away**

She patiently watched the courtyard procession, hands folded neatly in her lap. She made no move to become part of the conference or let her opinion be heard. Voices were raised and political feathers ruffled, but she remained the silent third party. A figure in the background, her presence was purely symbolic, her words hardly heard. At one time she had spoken, but no more. All she did was watch.

Her two frosty pools gave hint to deep intellect; once as brilliant as the deep sea and as lively as the waves. The tides had now softened, but their depths only grew. Behind the wisdom, elusive layers of pain took refuge.

"We must concentrate on the conclusion of our own reconstruction, the peninsula project has already cost us more than the proposed budget." She fixed her gaze on the speaker, whose attention never shifted to her.

His large nose curved down after a tell-tale battle scar, giving his voice a nasally pitch whenever he pronounced a word with the letter that began his own name. A shock of gray braided into the tie at the back of his head; it contrasted the black companions about it but matched the man's steel colored eyes. Eyes that moved as much as the ore they were described as.

"My Lord, Nyuno exaggerates. Our losses have been minimal and our successes great. The project is just meeting some minor set backs." A leather faced man who had obviously seen one too many midnight suns dismissed his companion's claim. He was thinner than his burly companion and spoke with a quicker tongue. His close shaven head displayed a younger age.

Both men were comfortable in their opinions and authority to express them. Veterans of war from young ages, there was no one assembled that hadn't known its hardship. It had only been ten years since the Great War ended, but these men and women had spent their entire living its horrors. They still were.

"You call them set backs! They are disasters! The settlement we have there now is our third! It looks in no better shape than the other two."

"It will take time to colonize the area, this is true—but we must continue our labors, we have no other choice. Our people must be able to move there!"

"The land is un-inhabitable. To warm for ice and too barren for proper crops, _Our_ people have never lived without the snow. Imagine the resources it will take to adopt a completely foreign culture." The silver streak was in control. His voice was steady, but boomed with a resonance that filled all ears.

Before he realized what had happened, the bronzed man's fist came down upon the edge of a silver platter. The arrangement of whale blubber, fish rolls, and black bread sailed into the air.

As luck would have it, all but one of the food items sullied the frosty table or floor; as luck wouldn't have it, a rather large piece of whale blubber now slide down the face of the most influential man present.

The young man who had shared his sister's composure until now, wiped the slimy grease of uncooked fat from his face. A silence fell over the assembly, grown men holding their breath in anticipation. Moru, the culprit, was already sweating profusely; the authoritive man's facial expressions giving suggestion enough.

"My Representative…I…my sincerest apologies…please…I.." He was silenced by a hand gesture.

"Well Moru…I never would have thought you would learn to read minds. How did you know I was hungry?" The man laughed heartily, causing the others around him to chuckle uneasily. "Please Moru, Nyuno—everyone, let us eat. I would much rather discuss these things on full stomach."

* * *

"You're working real miracles hear Sokka." The woman commented in between servings of crab meat.

"It's been a while since your last visit Katara." Her brother replied, a fish bone at the corner of his mouth. His eating habits still left something to be desired, but no one who had lived through the war blamed him. The remnant of many nights without food, Sokka ate quickly and messily. In other cultures such manners were seen as repulsive, but amidst the 'Waterbender Family' a chef felt their worth by such consumption.

"I know, I'm sorry—but you know with everything that's been happening recently." Katara sighed. She had picked here and there at her food with a small appetite. "We've had so much work…well he's had so much work…" She stopped and changed the subject.

"This courtyard is spectacular, I love the ice sculptures." It was small talk, Sokka knew, but he played along.

"They actually finished it not long before you arrived. I wanted us to have an outdoor area to conduct business.—I am glad you like it." The young man looked up at his surroundings, finally taking in the true atmosphere.

Sokka found it hard to believe that only years earlier, this beautiful city had been nothing more than a handful of huts and few lumps of snow. Erected in the once place of poverty, stood a prestigious Grand Hall, miles of canals, and blocks of towering houses. The Southern Water-tribe was finally reconstructing and repopulating. The North had done wonders for its sister, contributing more than sweat and blood. Many northerners even moved to the South, adding their artisanship and traditions to the diversified city.

What glistened in front of Sokka's eyes, however, was only a fraction of the olden day splendor he had heard of as a child. The Southern Water-tribe had once been the jewel of ancient times, a metropolis of society. Tui and La had originally settled in the waters of the south, only moving after its fall.

There was still much to be done and Sokka would not rest until he could give every newborn child the fantasy he had been denied. The gentle courtyard slope, whose steps overflowed with falls of frigid water, looked out over much of the undeveloped land. Its sight plagued and inspired Sokka. Desolate and barren, a gaggle of igloos dotted the area; the constant reminder his people's the past and possible future.

"I can feel it in the water Sokka. It's changing." Katara whispered, drawing Sokka back into reality.

"I don't have a full stomach yet, I don't want to talk about it!" Sokka grumbled. "Not even with you."

Somewhere in the background the steam from a roasting seal condensed, raining down little pock marks into the ice. The people, who had once gasped at such a sight, now saw the occurrence as a natural event. Rain in the South Pole no longer surprised anyone.

Back between the siblings, Katara's characteristic temper was rising. "You've already waited too long! The Southern Water-tribe will die…be destroyed. Our people, our way of life, it has to change!" They were attracting attention.

"We are doing what we can, these things take time." Sokka replied with a mouth full of bread.

"Time is the thing you don't have! In the week I've been here, the western part of the city has already had a collapse."

"The ice moves all the time. It doesn't mean that this incident was caused by warming." He was concentrating hard on his food.

"But I know their have been others! The North is having the same troubles."

"And they will make their own decision. Hahn always likes to make a show." Sokka felt himself sicken over the thought of the man. Old rivalries died hard.

"Sokka, it's your duty to attend to Republic meetings! You and Hann have to work together!" Katara reasoned.

"Last time I checked, Sokka, not Katara, was Southern Water Representative!" People were now starring at the two, unsure which one to defend, their Water Representative or the Lady Katara.

"But these are still my people!" She was standing, her finger already waging at her brother. "You're so stuck up on this vision of the past, that you can't see what's happening right now! Lives are on the line here."

"When did you become Avatar Katara?...the last time you screwed him? " Sokka remained seated but his agitation was clear. He knew the potency of his words "Don't throw your virtues at me. Don't tell me how to run my city!"

"Your city? Your…city?" She gawked. "Last time I checked this was the Elemental Republic—and _your _city belonged to the people!"

There was a long pause; a winter breeze tousled the furs and hair between them. Katara had chosen to ignore his earlier comment. They both knew it to be out of line and ironic beyond a doubt. It did sting Katara though, in more places than she would have liked, but through her anger, through her righteousness, she took a deep breath and stayed her voice. In front of her very eyes was a sight she had feared for far too long. Sokka wasn't even thirty and yet in this instant his face showed the weight of an elder etched in every premature wrinkle and frown line. He looked the weary that was self-made and the strong that covered up insecurities. Just as Aunt Wuu had predicted, Sokka had been destine to a life of self inflicted misery. Her brother, her Sokka, was a young man with too many ambitions and far too little time.

"Katara," Sokka was now speaking to his little sister, and she was listening to her big brother. "Our people look up to me. They may respect your husband more, but I will be the one to save them, not him. My word will determine their fate for generations. They will be forever bound to the decision I make, be it to stay here or move to the peninsula. I could create of destroy with one vote! Don't be so quick to preach what is right and wrong when you have not felt the responsibility of the decision's consequences."

Katara was silent. So many things had changed since a young boy and two teenage siblings flew into the sunset atop a flying bison. So much had happened after a young bride waved goodbye to her selfless protector, separated from him for the first time in her entire life. The chasm his absence left was the first of countless holes which now filled her heart. Perhaps that was why they squabbled so. Sokka had not been ready to give her up, and she had rushed to push him away.

Katara came to realize just how much life had altered the people she once loved and trusted. Even in her own village, Katara was now a stranger. The fissure between her past and present was ever growing, each visit making it more obvious. She was no longer the part of the Water-tribe tale she had once wished for; Sokka was. Katara had decided to rise above them, unknowingly forsaking all that she once possessed.

"I'm tired of this!" Sokka raised his tone and lifted his arms. He turned from Katara to his council. "Our meeting is adjourned. Let us come back tonight when the moon may guide our thoughts."

With that the ex-warrior left his table, guests and sister, not waiting for a response.

* * *

"It's really unfortunate that you have to leave this afternoon. I know you want to hear the decision tonight."

"Send a message right away. You know my ship."

"I promise. You have my word."

Two women sat alone upon the defensive wall, backs to the city and faces to the ocean. One was robed in blue, dark of skin and light of dress; the other was drowning under layers of clothing, pale of skin and possessed tawny hair.

"You mustn't be angry with him Katara. He is only trying to do what he thinks is best."

"Yes…I suppose." Katara tore her eyes from the horizon. "I wish he would just get off his high horse once in a while."

"He can get carried away, yes. But he is only defending his…and their honor." The other replied, drawing her knees closer.

"Honor…" Katara mumbled but left it at that. These were the only people with whom she could let her façade down, yet here they were mentioning honor. "I feel like a foreigner here." She randomly commented, even though it wasn't so random.

"I know just what you mean—Its so damn cold! I'll never get use to it." The girl complained from under an extremely large parka. "What I wouldn't give to wear a dress without leggings underneath."

Katara began to laugh. "Sometimes I wonder what possessed you to marry that brother of mine, Suki."

"I wonder too…I'll tell you if it wasn't for his charming looks and brilliant intellect." Suki joked, and the women continued to laugh and poke fun. When they took the chance to breathe again, Katara persisted with her more serious inquiries.

"Honestly Suki, I feel like I'm the Firebender born to Waterbenders. I am more and more alone every time I visit."

"No, your not alone Katara. Everyone still remembers you."

"Remembers! All they see is what I have become, never anything beyond a name." Katara shot a spear of ice, recently formed, off into the ocean, watching it splash into the depths. "I came here because I was lonely, and I leave lonelier."

Suki didn't respond, causing Katara to contemplate what she had said wrong.

"Suki?"

Still nothing.

"Suki wha-?"

"Maybe it is a good thing you are leaving Katara." Suki's lip was stiff and her voice flat. Something had changed.

"I don't understand, why?" A naïve Katara begged.

"For all your wisdom, and all you see…You know nothing Katara."

"Suki, I'm sorr…"

Suki stood up, clutching her clothes tighter. She was suddenly colder than she had ever been. "When you know how it feels to be taken from everything you loved and put somewhere totally new—with no friends or allies to make the transition easier; when you change your entire life for someone else…give up your friends, your family! When you know what it means to be truly alone…" Suki paused, watching somewhere past Katara. "you might understand the ties which bind me here…and why your brother does what he does—until then Katara, don't come back."

* * *

A rabbit-gull danced upon the salty breeze, its ears flapping wildly. It twirled and flipped through the clouds, catching the up-drafts before diving toward the sea. For one who wished to see the meanings in life, the bird was the perfect symbol of good fortune. They only flew out on days of fair weather, cawing and cackling to their companions in good humor. This gull, however, flew alone.

Katara took her eyes off the gull when her brother pulled out of their embrace. He took his place next to a child carrying Suki. The little boy reached out for his aunt.

"Kota, Aunty Katara has to leave now." Suki cooed, bouncing the child on her hip. He began to cry grasping for Katara through watery eyes.

Rubbing her fingers together, Katara slowly drew the trail of tears from her nephew's cheeks. Twisting them within her palm, she solidified the form of a tiny solider. The little Water-tribe warrior resembled a certain general, who recognized it at once but would never tell his son. Placing it in the baby's hands, Katara kissed the top off his bald head, hoping someone would remember her this time.

She backed away now. This scene wasn't for her and she only ruined it. Sokka's arm was wrapped protectively around Suki, who in this light finally showed the signs of pregnancy. Kota was nuzzled against his mother's shoulder, chewing on his present. Katara would have given anything to be Suki in that moment. The women had not reconciled, for Suki had meant what she said, but that stranger among friends still had everything Katara wanted. The pang of jealously that filled her heart didn't make the situation any better. Just like the rabbit-gull, Katara was forced to fly alone.

"May Yue send you home safely." Suki added out of hospitality. It was a hard farewell for her to utter, as she had learned of Sokka's earlier exploits, but it had become tradition.

"Look after yourself Katara!" Sokka warned. Their wounds had been healed, but it only made her leaving harder.

"I will." She smiled. "Don't forget to write."

"Don't wait until the baby is born to visit again!" Sokka reminded as Katara boarded the large coal ship. He hadn't said it, but all Katara heard was '_don't wait until your next guilt trip to visit again.'_

Glancing to her left, Katara made her traditional Bo voyage to the crumbling ruin of a watch-tower. Every time Katara departed, she found comfort in the one sight that proved all of their humanity. No one had been able to tear the relic of war down, especially Sokka, who rebuilt the shaky structure in exact replication to his 13-year-old craftsmanship. Katara knew why, but she never embarrassed him with the knowledge.

She flashed them another smile and waved quickly before descending into the cabin. The trip home would be a long one.

* * *

_**A/N:** Like I said, these first couple of chapters are going to be real cliff-hangers. This one not so much as the last, but if you are someone who feels a little lost or has questions I haven't answered, please know that I am not remaining silent out of meanness._

_I would also like to thank all my reviews, especially _**_hUeS -of- h a z e l_**_, whose review really lifted my spirits. I promise I will end your cliff-dom soon! _

_Read, review and enjoy!_

_**Arien**_


	6. Chapter 3: The Last Living Souls

**Title:** Honor: The Ties That Bind

**Author:** XArienX

**Rating: **T(PG-13) for violence, blood and adult themes.

**Summary: **Almost twenty years have past since the Avatar and Fire Lord met in battle and since then radical changes have shaken the very foundations of the Avatar world. Aang and his friends have found themselves caught in this endless web of love, lust, politics and betrayal, whose end shall conclude the history books of a tumultuous era.

_**Disclaimer: **This is the completely useless part of every fan-fiction. Obviously I don't own Avatar, otherwise I wouldn't have to write about it_

_**

* * *

**__**A/n: **I have a whole new appreciation for all fan-fiction writers. I must have read, re-read, checked and changed this chapter more times than I can count. I am so nervous about putting my work out that I am never truly satisfied with it. It's like bearing your heart and soul for the entire world to read and critique. It is really a nerve racking experience, especially for new writers such as myself. _**

* * *

**

**Chapter 3: The Last Living Souls**

_Those who have power and no pity,  
Who would avenge the right by sword,  
And profit from justice,  
And do well by doing good;_

_Those who would gain by others' grief  
In the name of freedom,  
And allocate the Earth's abundance to themselves,  
And allow the marketplace to starve children;_

_And those who would see such things happen and do nothing:_

_The mark of Yen-Lo-Wang is on them,  
And on their followers,  
And on their generations._

They were the children of the flame, the sprites of the embers, the followers of the blaze. Like aborigines, they worshiped its heat and basked in its glow. It was their creator and would be their reaper. The same kindling which enflamed their hearts, consumed their souls. Passion, power, prestige and honor would once again be theirs.

Red robes covered dark faces and dark faces sung low hymns. The circle of members began to weave together, their pace quickening and movements elaborating. A room, which had previously drawn light from a lone candle, was suddenly illuminated by dozens of fiery orbs that appeared to combust spontaneously from thin air. The illusion would have remained if similar lights had not appeared at the gatherers opposite hands.

The militaristic-like dance was complicated when each person tossed their sphere across the room to be caught by another. This canopy of moving flame ignited the very walls into living beings, each shadow the puppet to many masters. Frolicking like little acrobats, the flames were happy to dance in the most daring and exquisite ways. It seemed as if they preformed for a hidden audience or unearthly power.

Above the spectacle, an emblazoned scepter of the flame drew life blood from the dazzling ritual. Imposing absolute supremacy over its idolizing minions, the brazen symbol bade them to continue with more vehemence. It answered to no other power but itself, with no friends or enemies to rule beside it.

The last of its kind, the tapestry wore its battle scars well, a fray here and a singe there, but nothing worse for the wear. The gold of its embroidered flame would again be admired by many faces, commanding their respect and servitude. Surviving the mass genocide of its companions, one day it would see glory and honor in a Great Hall once more. One day soon, very soon.

Second only to the incarnation of their people, another presence stood unabated against the ceremony around it. Centered, with its shadow cast upon the textile, this bender donned a rob black as the silhouettes it could have been mistaken. If the eyes behind its hood had not been near to glowing, their outline might have been lost all together.

Overcoming its previous inaction, a hand was raised from the ebony cloak and thrust towards the heavens, its palm open and flat. Nothing was produced from this action but the tide of the room had subtly changed. An ember floated down from the ceiling, drawn to the slender arm like a moth to the flame. Others began to follow in a likewise fashion, the hand soon receiving the mass migration of radiant particles. The red robes had stilled, allowing their flames to contribute to the exodus. If the ceremony hadn't suggested darker dealings, the true beauty of the shimmering light spiral might have been received with more reverence. None-the-less, the blossoming globe, which grew lager with every second, attracted not only the energy of flame but of soul as well.

A second hand was added to hold up the massive burden, but acted only to spin and construct what could be called 'shapeless clay'. Filled with endless potential but frightening consequences, in the hands of a careful master, anything could have been wrought from the massive flame. Good thing the master knew exactly what they were doing.

An ocher riptide spiraled down toward the granite floor, outstretching a single tendril for the impending contact; the result of their union created an explosion of white light. The earth beneath their feet was ripped open as if the very fabric of reality had snagged. Time, space and earth, all hewn from the stitches and foundations they had been born into. Some of the robed benders shifted uncomfortably, but none would show such weakness in any other form.

Their fiery tornado was now sucked down into the abysmal crevasse until its largest ring was all but devoured. With another flash of light and moving of the earth, what would have been an impossible reaction for matter-less fire to accomplish, took place; it froze. Half-way between burning and dying, the last of the orb hardened to a sheen, setting a large amber-like mirror into the cobblestones.

All the room dropped to its knees, with the exception of the black figure, their heads down and arms out in waiting submission. There was an unearthly silence as their presumed leader stepped upon the glassy mirror and the aura about the portal engulfed its passenger in a bright halo; its light becoming blazing white. The master's robes were seared off; this new energy spawn satisfied only after it had ate away the coverings of all present. Nothing but their flesh and hair was spared its hunger, so by the time the ravishing light was sated, they stood stripped of cloth. They looked as they did when born, as they had been when chosen by the element of fire. Baptized and blessed by flame, the revealed men and women present were cleansed again by a trusted power beyond their sight, one which branded them with a symbol power.

Finally the leader spoke, her gender now apparent but considered of no greater or lesser authority. She gazed at her companions with a stare so fierce and demanding that lesser men would have crumbled. Her people, her followers, however, never wavered or showed the potency of her glare or unspoken threats. The ceremony had been completed, and they all knew what would be asked of them.

Parting slender lips, her sultry, smooth voice enchanted and captured the room. "Brothers, Sisters, I ask you to release your mortal ties to this world! I ask you to seek a time many of us have wished to forget, a time that shall, try as we might, always be the burden of our hearts. Remember the ache and anguish we have endured—the loved ones we have lost…the sacrifices we have made!"

She backed off of the looking glass, allowing it the proper honor. "Remember what you then fought for and what you are still fighting for now!"

Taking the blatant hint, the portal sprang to life, flickering and moving as if a phantom processed it. The entire room reflected within its depths as if displaying a timeless society of stubborn and honorable people, lost to their own virtues. Images of the future and instants from the past swirled endlessly into view, a captivating sight flowing beyond anyone's control, dictating its own stream of consciousness. If it had not been a time where magic and spirits were still revered above reason and machine, such a display would have been beyond belief.

Then as suddenly as the show began, it halted, a single picture ingrained into the ruddy crystal. Every bender present remembered the picture with a chill in their heart and fire in their eyes, they would never forget that face. The screen was set, the audience ready, and when the movie began to play, its meaning was clear.

* * *

_He stood at the top of the stairs, the blood of the fallen fresh on his hands. His eyes alight with the power to kill, he descended towards them. They wept, they cried, some screamed, while others wailed. Every step brought him closer, and their demise sooner._

_The boy, who was no longer a child, threw up his arms and declared peace, for all nations and all benders. The years of war and bloodshed would come to an end, a guarantee of armistice set forth. Food for every mouth and shelter for every babe, the world would begin anew. All was forgiven and forgotten, the lines between the victorious and defeated erased. He promised equality, he promised recovery, safety and security. He promised…with empty words._

_Blood. Everywhere blood. It ran down the streets, it pooled in the houses, it dried on the walls. Dead. Everyone dead. Bodies lay on the stairs, drowned in the river, hung from the trees. Fear. Never had they known a greater terror, a greater horror. No one was spared, no where was safe. Women and children, the old and the sick, suffered in the name of peace, at the hands of their people, at the mercy of cold steel._

_A woman lay crumpled in the corner of a dark room. Glass littered the floor and blood spattered the sheets. Her silk dress was torn and wrinkled, the beautiful fabric sullied. Her painted features which had once pronounced ageless beauty, had withered and smeared in an instant; a china doll broken and left in the corner, no longer an elegant toy they wished to play with. The shattered face she wore betrayed her last moments in life as those of grief and tragedy. Paradise, faith, and love lost. She might have died with the valor famous of her kind, if she had not been worried about the bundle in her arms. Forced to watch the death of her son, tears smeared her porcelain face before her own candle was extinguished._

_A man's head slumber upon his desk in a dark room. His graying beard and sagging eyes pronounced both a wisdom and age, which would never be shared for the world's betterment. Blood escaped his parted lips and mixed with the spilt ink, death's work written in a deep crimson. The feather he had used was cloven on the floor, its magnificent coloration caked in mud. He would never wake from his perpetual dream land, the letter on his desk left unfinished, eventually left to yellow with age. Somewhere a wife would weep, her husband's love never written, her fate left to solitude forever more._

_Mobs swept the country side like wildfire, cutting down all in their path. The wealthy were found first, their birth-rite and beauty the object of murderous desire. The merchants were found second, their fortune and skill envied around the world. The workers were third, their competition and availability seen as a threat to others. The poor were last, their hopelessness and vulgarity easily expendable. _

_It was called the Terror, a name that would never fit the brutality. Connected to but overshadowed by the Great War, the events under its rule nearly exterminated a race, one almost lost to the genocide of peace and the oblivion of lost time. Nearly the things of legend, their stories were all but ripped out of history. None of the elements had ever been destroyed, air coming the closest and revived a bit longer by the avatar. The water-tribes were rebuilding, and the earth nations grew as large as ever. Fire had, however, brushed closer to death than any of the mindless murders could have imagined. The Fire Spirit had all but disappeared from existence; its blaze dwindled to a smoke. _

_Much that had been of the nation, was lost, for few now lived who could remember… _

_

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The serenity which shrouded the room became a mixture of memories. Inside the heads of all present, a deafening chorus of screams filled ears, while flames burned into minds.

"We fight for them!" The woman yelled, snapping the peeked looking men and women back into reality. "Those of us who dared ask for peace—were rewarded with death! Innocent babes seen as wicked devils and defenseless spouses hewn in their marriage beds! Who here has not seen such sights or escaped those catastrophes? No one! We all shared their pain!" Now her tone softened even if her eyes did not.

"You have proof of Yen-Lo-Wang's blessing! If we were not the select, would we still bare the mark? Pain and suffering have been our teachers and we are stronger because of it. The student and master walk as equals but we shall walk as their gods! We have earned the right! Through blood and sweat we have earned it!" Her pitch and tone grew louder again, as if fueled by kindling.

"We have been tested many a times, and had much lost to folly! We mistook the prophecy and caused many of our kin died in vain—But these tragedies have only prepared us, and now we posses the power! We are the children of the superior element, the ones that shall rule all others! Let the blood of our fallen comrades empower our swords and fell our enemies. We are the chosen and our destiny shall be fulfilled!" Her words commanded and rallied, amplified by the inner light which seemed to emit from her body.

"Death to the one who opposes us, and we shall reign again!" Instead of ending with a triumphant resolve of silence and repose, the leader burst into a maniacal grin followed by and equally iniquitous laugh. "Death to the Avatar!"

* * *

A paltry flame spanned the distance between them, barely illuminating enough to see past each other's outline. Its weak shafts produced the only source of light for miles of endless dark and gloom, where any number of forces could have been hidden in shadow. 

But it mattered not to the ill-fated companions, who seemed to push all the world aside for a few lingering moments together. To them, the room was nothing more than the empty void which sought to rip apart lovers' embraces.

"Everyday that passes…you grow more and more beautiful." He stood apart from her, across the flame. "While I grow old and bitter."

"But you remain the same, my love. Age does not taint you..." She cooed with a tenderness that seemed unbefitting of her voice.

"My form remains young, but my spirit ages more with everyday." He cut her off. Unsaid regrets and unsettled business vivid upon his face

"I must spend an eternity it this hell, haunted by my failures forever!" He paused, but bristled with the anxiety to continue.

'I was taken in my prime, my peak of success! I was so close to having it all!" He reached out with a passion that displayed the true torture his soul had endured over these thoughts. "If only…." He twisted and contorted around the idea with a furious passion, the same fervor that had drawn her to him.

It had been he who had shown her the ways of secrecy, the power of malice, and the subtlety of fear. His unholy communion had left her open to the realities of the world and betrayals of men. She had been a child before him with ribbons of white in her hair and purity twinkling in her eyes. He had taught her to fear none while striking others into obedience, to use her powers for their advancement, and to fight with the same ferocity as she loved.

She became prodigy thanks to him; all her power spiraling around the wish to have him notice her and one she had it, he selfishly took her innocence and impregnated her with fire. For that she would always love him with fanatical hatred and respect.

And he had grown to love her in a similar fashion; at first for their evening trysts, and later for her passionate deviancy. He watched her grow in form, mocking him with every flirtatious gesture. She tease him with the uncertainty of her temper and excited him with the lust in her glancing eyes. It was an obsession that demanded he have her at his bed night after night, when such an act would mean his demise. She drove him to success as well as to insanity.

Thus the two had a dangerous relationship, spawned by lust and fueled by ambition. They used each other and abused their love, all for the sake of power. They had everything to lose but everything to gain. Two personalities wrought from the same metal, but cast into an eternal struggle, they loved and lost like everyday was their last.

Even with their profane lifestyle, she never true believed it would come to an end. He left her arms that morning for a land of ice. How could those, somewhere so cold, truly love in the heat of passion? How could a land so barbarous, lynch her of a man worthy to royalty? When she had received the letter weeks later from a weather beaten bird, the young woman felt truly cold for the first time in her life, crying the only tear she would ever shed.

"If only…" She whispered, powerful feelings on an expressionless face.

He looked at her hallowed and wearied eyes. There was no rest for the living or dead. That simple fragment opened the gates to so many emotions and so many haunting memories.

"If only I…could touch you again…" Longing and pain glazed his eyes with more sincerity than he had ever shown in life. He yearned for her now, but not in the way as he had once. He reached toward her with trepidation and she to him the same.

Fingers reached, distances lessened, hopes rose…

"Milady Zula?" There was a knock at her chamber door. Instantly her world dissolved into anonymity, his face vanishing as if it had never existed. Such a cruel alarm denied them once again.

Her eyes tore towards the intruder, ready to rip out the jugular which had disturbed her meditation.

A young boy entered with a tray, his hands shaking violently at the simple task. The two glasses of red wine his mistress always ordered, chimed crisply together, grading on an already deteriorating patience.

Ever aware of the eyes upon him, the boy needed only to make it to the mahogany dresser before he could retreat. Only a couple of steps…only…a trip, a fall, a glass of crimson staining the carpet. For a moment it was blood, then it was fire, and last it was wine—all of which the boy would taste.

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_**A/N: **Sorry, still no Zuko. My cliffhanger is a killer, but I promise you will find out very soon the fate he meets. I also want to take this opportunity to stress the ambiguities of my pairings. I don't even want to name a category for Katara in this story so farbecause it is currently irrelevant. This may change, but for right now, as I stressed before, expect the unexpected.The only stated pairing has been Sokka/Suki. Otherwise, please keep and open mind._

_Major major internet brownies for the person who can name the story and author from which the 'ribbon's in her hair' came from. To make it easier, since I changedthe descriptionup a bit, the ribbons in the questioned story were pink, pink ribbons._

_Thank you again to all my reviewers and even hitters! You honestly don't know how much you brighten up my day by just reading my story. _

_Read, review and enjoy!_

_**Arien**_


	7. Chapter 4: Survival

**Title:** Honor: The Ties That Bind

**Author:** XArienX

**Rating: **T(PG-13) for violence, blood and adult themes.

**Summary: **Almost twenty years have past since the Avatar and Fire Lord met in battle and since then radical changes have shaken the very foundations of the Avatar world. Aang and his friends have found themselves caught in this endless web of love, lust, politics and betrayal, whose end shall conclude the history books of a tumultuous era.

_**Disclaimer: **This is the completely useless part of every fan-fiction. Obviously I don't own Avatar, otherwise I wouldn't have to write about it!_

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Author's Note**: IMPORTANT !PLEASE READ! _I am going out of my traditional style of writing by labeling each sub-part of the chapter. This episode is divided up into memories, and in order to keep confusion minimal, these divisions are past memories in chronological order. The beginning and end are the modern parts of the story._**

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Chapter 4: Survival

Blood again. The bitter tonic was familiar but hardly savored. Much like the working man grows accustom to the sweat on his brow, he accepted the vile liquid in his mouth as the familiar companion to an aching body.

The far-off hoots and hollers of the marauderous gang were already fading; their clamor became one with the hum of distant machines and ocean tides. A perpetual miasma of coal and brimstone, akin to the cigar smoke of the pubs, seeped its way into the man's lungs, only to be violently rejected by heaving muscles. His convulsing motions caused a broken bottle to roll from its owner's blackened fingers, a testimony to the meager comfort it had provided. Somewhere in the distance a lonely dog howled.

Previously rich boots showed the ware and tear of travel, stained with the mud of many lands. Fatigue overcame his normal wariness, like a solider laying down his arm for a moment's rest. But there would be no sleep for the weary. No matter how long he ran or to what shores he came, the Great War always followed. Its memory ever festered in peaceful hearts, with the stamina to last until every trace of recollection was destroyed. Ten years had faded the battle scars, not the wounds.

The moon scantily illuminated the man's dark visage, needing to overcome many a shadow in the vulgar surroundings. Even if that night's pale sliver of opaque had been lucky enough to overcome the daunting darkness, unruly tassels of hair created a trickier barrier for the celestial body. His nightly companion, she helplessly watched the violent theater of his life wax and wane.

With a particularly vehement throb, his soar muscles caused him to shift, finally allowing in the moon's counsel. The facial trademark which had coerced him into this sullied alley, and many others for that matter, was now thrust brazenly into the light.

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**Memory #1**

Zuko limped away into the night, a characteristic exit to his plots. It was a deliberately slow process, as his path was littered with bodies; their corpses not yet disfigured beyond recognition. An ocean of rigor mortis stricken limbs seemed to momentarily reanimate and grasp at his receding ankles, vainly attempted to ferry his soul down with theirs.

Perhaps he should have succumb to their advances, should have joined his countrymen in their heroes' brigade toward the Spirit World.

He hadn't really thought beyond the delirious mission or about his role in the world after. In fact, Zuko had convinced himself that his life would be sacrificed within the process, a failure which left him in a position of complication. Then again, this was no different than his other failures, all of which left him in the same disillusion. He thought death in combat was the only other conceivable way to salvage his elusive honor. He no longer labored to gain his father's affections, those feeble hopes swept into the corners of darker nights. The void was filled instead by an insatiable lust to find some greater purpose, a value. Stripped of everything, name, birth rite, and title, the goal to retain the last of any identity never ceased to scourge a bloody path across his heart. He fought to be born and he would fight to the death, just like his mother had said. And somewhere along that path, greatness lay in wait. He was sure of it.

Zuko tore away from those hampering thoughts; right now they didn't matter. He just had to get as far away from here (and her) as possible.

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**Memory #2**

Lizards didn't care what your status had been; trees showed no interest in politics. The sun was only a temporary companion and the moon usually hidden.

Nights were cold in the desert and days crippled by heat. Zuko's earlier despondency was soon replaced by the primal will to live. Time had ceased to exist, every passing landscape fading into the next. Faces and voices lost recognition as he became one with the parched earth and kin to the beasts at foot. It seemed so long ago since he had left the battle for power and become part of the battle for survival.

He knew there was where else to go, but his determined to exist was stronger then his idleness. Once again a cave became his shelter and the occasional cactus his quencher. When it rained, he left. He hated the rain.

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**Memory #3**

On the horizon lay the distant glimmer of civilization, its foreign illumination drawing Zuko ever closer like a captivated moth flying blindly into the sun; unable to look away or turn his feet in the other direction. Something more selfish than human companionship compelled the fire within his blood and soul to reach that village. An indescribable and almost guttural impulse urged him to connect with the source of his enchantment. It was only when Zuko drew closer that the previously enthralling radiance took a more sinister hue.

Fire. The village had become a fury of flames and it was clear when his hand scraped a barely visible line across a soot covered marker that the inhabitants were in even great danger.

Fire benders balanced upon a hazardously fine line of control over fire; the slightest slip could mean the difference between power and peril. Zuko could attest first hand to the fickle fury of the element he controlled; he would probably be as bold as to say he knew its pain the most. Those who grasped their bending abilities well could wield almost unmatchable skill, but those who made mistakes, paid a hefty price.

As the flames continued to escalate and Zuko stepped through the faltering gates, he knew however, that the village contained no benders.

Almost in reaction to his entrance, a scream pierced the inferno's roaring crackle and an accompanying wave of heat nearly blistered Zuko's face. The image in front of him materialized all the horrors of many an unshakable nightmare. The Fire Nation seemed to be going up in flames.

Here and there Zuko caught the glimpse of a shadow or the crash of a window, but it was obvious that his arrival had been too late. Blood and bodies were illuminated by a supernatural aura, an occasionally moan distinguishing a faceless man's last breath of life from beaten bones. Crippled limbs and scraps of cloth stuck out oddly from fallen timber and corroding stone, while articles of possession cluttered door ways and back alleys. Now and then, Zuko was disturbed by the cave in of a building or snapping of structural supports. Eventually nothing but rubbish and ruin would be left of the once quaint civilization. As if embodying the massacre, a red sun backdrop set quickly into a starless night.

Whatever group of guerillas had committed this crime, their path of destruction viciously desecrated the meager town. An eerie stillness, unnerving and bone-chilling, swept down from the fluorescent sky, causing Zuko to feel the grappling fingers of death clutching his throat. Even if he had wanted to cry out, the psychological grasp muted his lips.

But the war was over! His mind screamed. It had ended ten years ago! Who was still killing? Zuko brimmed with an insuppressible rage at the sight of his countrymen so abused. Though he had abandoned their leader in the heat of battle, he had always remained loyal to the people. Zuko, like all Fire Nation citizens, had believed that fire was the superior element, that the Fire Nation was destined to rule over all others. They were the ultimate race, promised by legend, to conquer. Every child had read the scriptures, who would dare question the gods who had written them?

These hypocrisies, similar to so many other things in Zuko's life, were crushed with age. But old beliefs die hard. Like it or not, the villagers were his kin, his family, pieces of who he was. If Zuko had learned one thing in his life, it was to never forget yourself. The Fire Nation was Zuko, and Zuko was the Fire Nation. Both were being burned away that night.

The race which had once dominated nearly every corner of the globe was facing the retaliation of their rein. Genocide just happened to be the method of choice.

Zuko's careful stalk became a sprint when another scream shattered the silence. The echo's reverberation seemed to dislodge a gutter from the building overhead. Dodging the falling hazard, Zuko shielded his eyes from the shower of embers which proceeded to rain down. Only after their glow had faded did he behold the final slaughter.

A dark haired woman lay sprawled across the village square, her body twisted in unnatural manners. Her pale face was scarred with disfiguring burns and her ashen dress singed to tatters. Looming over her helpless body was a masked insurgent, his burly appearance betraying him as one from the Earth Kingdom. Hardly concealing his miner's garb, the fiend demoralized an otherwise beautiful melancholy watercolor. He was the perfect perpetrator to a tragic rice manuscript; a demonesque creature defiling a woman's beauty.

The ruffian was just about to strike, an already bloodied knife demanding one last draught, one last dip into her soft flesh…when Zuko struck. A hand to the kidney—another other to the head, the bewildered victim was given a fleeting opportunity to match eyes with his killer, before crumpling to the earth.

Instead of gratitude for his action, the trembling woman began to wail; she was unable to recognize the weather-worn prince as friend or foe. Already swimming toward her eyes' crimson edges, all she could do was flinch away from Zuko's lowering presence.

"I'm not going to hurt you." Zuko cooed, kneeling down. "I'm fire bender. They aren't coming back…I promise." His oddly cool hand brushed her burning cheek. She whimpered irrepressibly, busting anew into tears.

Attempting to sooth her conscience, Zuko lowered the encroaching flames and made ready a part of his sleeve for a sling. Her continuous refusal of his aid, however, hampered his efforts considerably, to the point of Zuko being forced to merely sit at her side, with his empty palms open. Unable to save the ailing woman from fate or convince her of his sincerity, Zuko found himself frustrated with her weakness and his helplessness. He wanted answers; he wanted some justification for the slaughter of innocent lives and she was the only survivor left. Without her dying testimony, an entire town would enter un-avenged into eternity.

Zuko winced at her growingly pitiful sobs, his face falling and previous thoughts erased.

Whether an illusion of the heat or a vision from his delirious mind, out of the corner of his eye, Zuko saw the woman's form begin to change. And a pale hand brushed his cheek.

"Do not despair my son," a melodic voice assured, "all will be healed one day."

"How?" A eight year old Zuko begged.

"When we learn how to love." Ebony hair covered the latest bruise.

"Does father love you?" Zuko's innocent eyes found the blackened blemish and his mother paused. She clasped his hand to her heart and smiled.

"All we have is each other Zuko, of course he does."

And then his mother was gone, replaced once again by the dying woman and the burning town.

"All we have is each other." Zuko whispered, finding the hazy eyes of his companion. It was then that he realized a hand was still at his face. It was the woman's. She was no longer crying, her features holding a placid calm where wrinkles had once furrowed.

"Stay…" she croaked suddenly, the effort apparent in the choke which followed the single word.

Showing a tenderness so unaccustomed of the usual charade he played, Zuko cupped her fingers in his, as if savoring her final gesture.

"…with me." She finished, he chest spasming at the release of two more words. Any more would have been too great an effort for her frail frame.

"I won't leave you." Zuko replied softly but firmly, his eyes set firmly upon her. He wouldn't have hesitated to give her any ounce of his life; to draw in her pain, and take it on himself.

Here was the fire goddess, right in front of him! Dangerous and stunning in her tragedy, Zuko believed he had never before seen a more beautiful creature. How could it be that something so immortal, so timeless, could meet its end? The Fire Nation was supposed to live on forever; it was suppose to see the end of all things wonderful! Why then was it dying? Had all things wonderful in the world rotted away? How could he believe that people could learn to love, when hate came easier?

A breeze descended down from the fiery sky, or perhaps up from the tumultuous earth; Zuko couldn't tell, but he knew what it meant. The woman ever so lightly, squeezed his hand, words of gratitude on her lips. She smiled a peaceful, regretless smile, so like the one he had once seen on his mother's face. The breeze whistled loudly past, rushing for a few instants past Zuko's ears, riffling up all the embers and flames into one last spiral of splendor, before it left as quickly as it had come.

Later, Zuko found her wedding sash, held tightly in her other fist; only the state of death was able to release the sacred object from the grasp of its owner. Zuko would never learn of the fate which had befallen her newly wed spouse, and he suspected he wouldn't. It must have seemed unfair that her last moments on earth were spent with him, rather than with her lover. But Zuko wouldn't forget her, or the village. They would remain a part of him to his dying day, and he swore to their avenge.

Wrapping the intricately embroidered cloth around his forehead, Zuko tied back his unruly black hair with the promise to never again let his eyes be clouded.

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**Memory #4**

He came upon a poster that day in the forest. Only a simple piece of parchment really, plastered messily to a tree. A quick sketch was drawn upon it and a hefty reward for the capture of its subject, dead or alive. Zuko had seen them before; he had even watched his father issue them.

The only difference now was his own immobile face starring back at him, and the Avatar's signature at the bottom.

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**Memory #5**

Frolicking flames danced out from the warm hearth, playing unabated on the shadows of his scar. They no longer mocked him and his shame, and instead bathed him in a halo of security. This comfortable chair before the fire had become his nightly retreat. The floor also serving him occasionally, the real attraction was the crackling fire. Drawn in by the light and heat, he was never haggled about his choice in location.

Glancing across the room, Zuko starred emotionlessly on a sleeping form whose breaths were ragged and heavy. Every once and a while, snores or snorts would erupt from the bed, accompanied by a shifting in position. He had grown accustom to these nightly noises but he never ceased to find it amusing.

It was a cold evening and snow had fallen the day before. His companion's blankets had floated down and bare shoulders shuddered involuntarily. Rising silently, Zuko padded across the room, his bare feet making prints in the dirt floor. Almost fatherly, he tucked the covers back over the sleeper's body, lingering for a moment, before returning to his perch by the fire.

It seemed so long ago since he had arrived at this doorstep and had taken up residence with its inhabitant. He remembered vividly the morning he had been caught in the garden, pockets and mouth brimming with whatever produce his hands could reap. It must have been quite comical to see a young man who was suppose to be the stealthy Blue Spirit, caught red handed by an elderly blind woman.

Whether it had been her forgiving soul, or his carefully placed words, the widow had allowed him to repent his thievery by tending to her chores. Zuko knew he could have left at any time. By gods, she was blind and nearly cripple with her white and wrinkled age. It was almost pathetic how much faith she put in him and how gratefully she greeted him each morning.

Nothing would have stopped him from leaving that night, vanishing into the snow along with any of her meager trinkets. Nothing…but him.

Zuko knew he needed this woman and she needed him: She needed help around her home and he needed a place to lay low. He needed food and she needed supplies from the town. She was the motherly figure he had lost in childhood, and he was the son she had lost to the war. They both needed each other's companionship.

Eventually Zuko would leave; but it would be spring and she would be tending to the flowers.

* * *

A loud crash summoned Zuko back from his day dreams, they alley, the foul smell, and the brutalities of reality all flooding back. He suddenly wished for more from his empty bottle, reluctant to the returning pain, but even less to the possibility of dozing into more memories. 

He knew then it was too late to have accurately assessed the two men who now stood before him. They must have known the character of his nature, because they displayed a more cautious approach then the average bandit. It occurred to Zuko that they were dressed in red robes and that their faces were darkened by hoods. They meant business, and the already beaten man was going to have to listen to their proposal. He knew his strengths and weaknesses, which is why he didn't struggle when a cloak was pulled over his eyes.

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_**A/N: **I did not plan for this to be another cliff hanger! I actually split this and the next chapter from one manuscript. This means that Ch. 6 will be shorter but will be a definite continuation of what is happening here._

_I also want to apologize for the looming confusion with all these cliffhangers and odd plot bunnies. I want to answer all of your questions and I want to clarify things, but I can't. Soon, soon is all I can say. _

_I'd like to thank Isaia for creating one of her 'older Zuko' fan arts, which I am trying to envision in some of the scenes. I would just like to thank her for being a phenomenal artist in bringing all of our imaginations to life._

_Read, review and enjoy!_

_**Arien**_


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